Pack gatherings have had many names over the years. Moots. Junctions. Congregations. Parleys. The clambake to end all clambakes.
Whatever you call it, the idea is the same.
Two packs get together and have a fucking rager.
Of course, there is more to it than that... or there used to be. Traditionally, pack gatherings would last for days and start with a ceremonial and not-at-all-fake fight between the Alphas. When that inevitably ended in a draw, everyone would come together for a joint hunt. Only then, with bellies full of fresh meat and ears ringing with each other's howls, would the festivities begin.
Nowadays, things are a little bit different. Big celebrations are dangerous and can draw the attention of hunters, especially if they come alongside reports of large animals chasing deer through the woods. And so, pack gatherings are usually only one night, and all the obviously inhuman elements have fallen by the wayside. A few things haven't changed though.
Key among them, pack gatherings are still the place where most werewolves meet their mates.
Sergi especially seems well aware of this. He's wearing a shirt with buttons on it and has done something to his hair to make it lie flat on his head.
"Shut up," he mutters when he catches you looking.
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't need to."
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